When they reached his study they found Theo sitting at the piano
playing with the parrot, while Brigit stood, looking like a thunder
cloud, at an open window. Joyselle started as he saw her face. Surely
its expression must rouse even Felicite's slow suspicion!
And never, for his sins, he told himself grimly, had she been more
beautiful. Her storm of tears had left her eyes unswollen, but shadowy
and unusually melting, while her face, as white as paper, was the face
of one who had been face to face with a horrible death.
"I beg your pardon for having been--rude," she said to him sulkily,
holding out her hand, which was as cold as ice.
"But it is I," he murmured, touching his lips to her fingers and feeling
her quiver as he did so. "It is that we both have what you English call
bad tempers, _pas_?"
"You must have been very bad this time, papa," commented Theo, closing
the cage door on le Conquerant and joining them. "Brigit is very angry.
Look at her!"
"I am not angry, Theo. But--quarrelling is disgusting."
Why she had stayed the girl hardly knew. She had not forgiven Joyselle,
and her apology was a mere concession to the feelings of Felicite and
Theo.
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